"Of course."
"I should say that this national disease, which we have been discussing, is one of the results of trying to live with divided souls,—souls torn, distraught!"
"And we need—?"
"A religion."
The doctor raised his hat and sauntered down the avenue.
"A religion!" Isabelle murmured,—a queer word, here at the close of Mrs. Bertram's pleasantly pagan Sunday afternoon, with ladies of undoubted social position getting into their motors, and men lighting cigarettes and cigars to solace them on the way to their clubs. Religion! and the need of it suggested by a surgeon, a man of science….
When the three reached the Woodyards' house, Conny paused with, "When shall I see you again?" which Isabelle understood as a polite dismissal. Cairy to her surprise proposed to walk to the hotel with her. Isabelle felt that this arrangement was not in the plan, but Conny merely waved her hand with a smile,—"By-by, children."
They sauntered up the avenue, at the pace required by Cairy's disability. The city, although filled with people loitering in holiday ease, had a strange air of subdued life, of Sunday peace, not disturbed even by the dashing motors. Isabelle, bubbling with the day's impressions, was eager to talk, and Cairy, as she had found him before at the Virginia Springs, was a sympathetic man to be with. He told her the little semi-scandalous story of her recent hostess…. "And now they have settled down to bring up the children like any good couple, and it threatens to end on the 'live happy ever after' note. Sam Bertram is really domestic,—you can see he admires her tremendously. He sits and listens to the music and nods his sleepy old head."
"And the—other one?" Isabelle asked, laughing in spite of the fact that she felt a little shocked.
"Who knows? … The lady disappears at rare intervals, and there are rumors. But she is a good sort, and you see Sam admires her, needs her."